


hold down the fort

by moonweaver



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Up, Post-Time Skip, actually very soft and emotional, tsukki learning how to express his feelings when he's not great at Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28010430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonweaver/pseuds/moonweaver
Summary: For someone who was unwaveringly there for him, who willingly bared his heart, who always believed in him with embarrassing, endearing enthusiasm as though his success would be a given,‘cause it’s you, Tsukki!For someone like that, for Bokuto, what could Tsukishima do that would be enough?___After a foolish, petty argument, Tsukishima finds a way to apologise.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 18
Kudos: 135





	hold down the fort

**Author's Note:**

> Post-timeskip canon-compliant in all but the fact everyone has relocated to Tokyo, because I’m not dealing with that long distance bs. Just imagine the Frogs and MSBY are Tokyo-based, kthxbyee

There was a bitter taste in Tsukishima’s mouth, and it had been there since last night. It had persisted through his morning run; persisted through the two scalding mugs of coffee he’d drunk in lieu of a solid breakfast. It was still there, stuck in the back of his throat, as he scrubbed his mouth with a toothbrush and spat coffee-stringed saliva into the sink.

Come mid-morning, he tried to take advantage of the rare quiet in his apartment and get some studying done, surrounding himself with the thick textbooks he’d left on the dining table yesterday. But the distraction and discomfort lingered. What made it worse was that he knew exactly why it did—because this was bitterness left by words _he’d_ uttered, the shape of them tattooed into his tongue. _Why do I keep putting up with this_ , he’d said, he’d shouted. _Why can’t you do anything right_ —and then he cut off the visceral memory, clenching his pen so tight in his hand it started to bend.

He bit down hard on his lip, trying to use the little spike of pain to pull himself back to the present. He had to focus on studying for his finals tomorrow. Whoever had had the bright idea to schedule three exams into a single day… Tsukishima roughly underlined a passage in his textbook, remembered the look on Bokuto’s face, and slapped his pen onto the table. “Fuck,” he muttered, glaring at the scrawls on the page.

That look. The shock, the hurt, the smile startled right off his mouth. Followed by a _wall_ Tsukishima could see bricking up behind Bokuto’s eyes, creating an unsure distance that had never existed between them before. Tsukishima had gone to sleep thinking of that look—try as he did to shove it aside, it became all he could see when he felt the cold gulf between them on the bed. He couldn’t turn around. He wouldn’t turn around.

He hadn’t turned around all night.

He’d woken up in the cool hours of the morning when Bokuto rose, knocking about as usual as he got his things together for volleyball practice. It took the half-asleep Tsukishima some time to realise why things felt off—it had been because Bokuto wasn’t saying a word. Usually he’d be muttering as he scrambled to find his clothes, or humming under his breath, or there'd be a soft sing-song of _ugh, wish I could sleep in like you, Tsukki_. This time, nothing.

Tsukishima had buried his head under a pillow, shutting out the silence. There had been a light touch on his ankle, but he pretended to be asleep, until he heard the front door open and close. Then he pushed the pillow aside, staring at the wall until the sun grew too bright to ignore.

It hadn’t even been consequential, what he’d lashed out over. Just the kitchen being left in a mess. Literally just some dirty dishes in the sink and improperly stacked pots in the drying rack, but it had been just past midnight and Tsukishima had been running on the fumes of stress alone, trying to make all the different bits of information _stick_ in his brain. Then he’d seen the clutter, when he was always asking Bokuto to clean up after himself—then Bokuto had barrelled into the kitchen with his usual upbeat and carefree attitude despite the late hour, and Tsukishima had just. Snapped.

As soon as he’d spat out those ugly words he’d felt something recoil within him, _take it back take it back_ , but they were out there in the air and couldn’t be unsaid. He had frozen in place, mouth untwisting from the cruelty that had distorted it, caught like a deer in the headlights at how Bokuto stared at him, for once actually speechless. For all the wrong reasons. Then Bokuto had stilled, apologised cautiously, and walked past him to start cleaning up the sink.

Giving Tsukishima space? No, avoiding him, the stubborn strung-out part of Tsukishima insisted, and he returned to the dining table, feeling horribly unbalanced even when he was sitting down. He looked at the textbooks without seeing the words. White pages, black lines, Bokuto’s eyes. He felt sick to his stomach.

He heard Bokuto finish up in the kitchen and walked past, heading into the bedroom. He paused at the entrance; Tsukishima felt the weight of his gaze, but refused to look up. The plastic of the pen was starting to give under his clenched fingers.

Bokuto’s unnaturally quiet presence at last left. Even then, Tsukishima couldn’t relax, replaying that damn scene over and _over_ in his head as he sat there, frustration and shame clashing in his chest. When he’d thrown in the towel an hour later and went to bed, Bokuto had been lying facing the wall, back to the door.

Tsukishima laid as close to the edge of his side as possible, holding the sheets tight around him so he wouldn’t accidentally roll more to the middle. And he’d been fucking yearning for that, to feel Bokuto’s arms wrap around him as they usually did every night, but he just _couldn’t_. Not now. Not with that wariness laid into the lines of Bokuto’s body, not with what he himself had said. If he hadn’t been so mentally exhausted, Tsukishima didn’t think he’d even have been able to sleep at all.

Now, in the emptiness of the apartment, he could still feel that wall. Tsukishima hissed out between his teeth, guilt almost caustic in his throat, slumping back in his chair. “Fuck,” he muttered, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “ _Fuck_.”

 _Fuck_ , because he’d fucked up, made Bokuto look like _that_ —caused him to make an expression that should have never touched his face in the first place. _Fuck_ , because pride and stubbornness stopped him from apologising, from reaching out across the mile-wide gap between them and touching Bokuto on the shoulder, bringing him back. _Fuck_ , because Tsukishima was a shit excuse for a human being.

 _I didn’t mean it_ , he thought. Those same feeble words had pricked at his heart immediately after he’d shouted last night. Now, alone in the weak sunlight of midmorning, they rang around his head like the tolling of bells.

He pressed his hands harder against his eyes, watching colours bloom and turn white and die. Would Bokuto be thinking about this; how would he be today at practice? He’d long since passed the point where he let his mood swings yank his plays around on a leash, something that genuinely impressed Tsukishima whenever he remembered how fickle his boyfriend had used to be in their highschool days. But the way Bokuto’s smile had faltered and fallen off his lips when Tsukishima had gotten angry at him…

Or maybe Tsukishima was being presumptuous to think he would have such an effect.

Be that as it may. He hated how self-disgust clawed at him like some vicious little beast, hated how vividly he could recall the wounded look in Bokuto’s eyes. Bokuto never pulled away, but Tsukishima had shoved him. 

He let his hands fall to his sides, staring blankly up at the ceiling. When the Jackals had morning practice, they usually ended around just before noon. But Bokuto usually grabbed food with the team after that, so he’d come home around at two or three in the afternoon. Tsukishima clenched his jaw when he thought of him returning and their small apartment filling with even more silence, made crushing by the fact there would be two bodies occupying the space.

 _I’m sorry_ , he sounded out in his head, flinching at the shame the apology brought with it. But it needed to be said, right? Even though his gut constricted at the notion of verbalising it. He exhaled long and measured, completely at odds with how he felt. _I’m sorry about last night_. Or, _I’m sorry about what I said_.

That was the problem: when he was being genuine, Tsukishima found he had trouble actually _sounding_ genuine. Yet even if it seemed like he was pushing words out like his teeth were a meat grinder, since Bokuto was Bokuto, Tsukishima knew—or was eighty-seven percent sure, at least—that he would accept the apology with little or no hesitation at all. But using just words didn’t feel right. Tsukishima twisted his fingers together, picking at a cuticle. Words alone weren’t sufficient. Bokuto deserved more than that.

For someone who was unwaveringly there for him, who willingly bared his heart, who always believed in him with embarrassing, endearing enthusiasm as though his success would be a given, _‘cause it’s you, Tsukki!_ For someone like that, for Bokuto, what could Tsukishima do that would be enough?

He eyed the couch, wondering if going and screaming into a cushion like Hinata did when he came over would help him think of something. Although he didn’t particularly want to bury his face into something that Hinata had probably (definitely) stuck his tongue on.

Pillows, though.

Tsukishima straightened in his chair, now frowning slightly at the couch. A memory from last week had suddenly slipped to the forefront of his mind, involving Yamaguchi tossing one of those couch cushions at him, Hinata cackling like a clown, and Bokuto perking up with wide, bright eyes. Not that Bokuto was looking all coin-shiny thanks to best-friend-abuse, but rather what had happened before that.

Hinata had been lying upside down on the couch with his legs sticking over the back, battling Yamaguchi at some Tekken game which only existed in the apartment thanks to Kuroo. Bokuto was in the kitchen, banging around cupboards in his search for extra snacks.

Yamaguchi sat cross-legged on the floor, cheerfully taking Hinata apart uppercut by uppercut, which had Tsukishima actually putting down his book and paying attention to the game for once. Every time Hinata had a chunk punched out of his health was an opportune moment for heckling.

“I’d like to see you try this, Tsukishima,” Hinata groused at him, making as if to throw the controller at his head. “You _know_ Yamaguchi-kun would beat you too.”

He could, easily, but that wasn’t the point. “It’s because you’re upside-down.” he told Hinata, holding back a snicker at how his purpled face clashed horribly with his orange hair. “There’s less oxygen than usual getting to your brain.”

“That’s mean, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said brightly, KO-ing Hinata’s character so hard she catapulted into the game’s stratosphere.

“Ugghh,” Hinata groaned, letting the controller fall to the ground with a clatter. “Yamaguchi-kun, you’re supposed to be nice.”

"I told him off, right?" Yamaguchi mirrored his fighter’s victory peace sign, laughing when Hinata poked out his tongue.

The MSBY player wriggled into an upright position, almost kicking Tsukishima in the shoulder as his legs came down. "I wish Kenma was here," he said mournfully. "He'd...he'd build me a pillow fort or something."

"Kozume-san would do that?" Tsukishima asked skeptically, giving Hinata’s feet a dirty look.

"We did last week!" Hinata insisted, making a rude gesture at Tsukishima. "Don't get mad that you don't know how to have fun!"

"I have fun aplenty," Tsukishima said flatly, brandishing his book at the noisy talking tangerine.

Yamaguchi plonked his controller down and leaned back on his hands. "Me and Tsukki made pillow forts all the time when we were kids.”

"No way—"

"Remember?” he prompted, poking Tsukishima’s shin.

"— _you_ made a pillow fort?" Hinata continued, bouncing up from his goblin-hunch at the end of the couch.

"Tsukki made a _what now_?" Bokuto called out from the kitchen. He hustled out with a bag of crisps and extra dip, a small green guacamole smear on his cheek.

Tsukishima flushed at the unabashed enthusiasm in Bokuto's voice, directing his irritation to Hinata. "Shut up, it was the one time. And we were _kids_."

"It was totally more than once!" Yamaguchi insisted.

A dreamy nostalgic look had descended over his face. Tsukishima didn't know what there was to be sentimental about—the single vivid recollection he had culminated in him being almost crushed by Yamaguchi’s falling dresser. And that was the only memory he needed.

Bokuto had perked up, all sparkly and eager like a puppy, but Tsukishima was busy getting lost in old traumas. "No," he said flatly, flipping to the next page in his book. Anyway, he was a grown adult, and grown adults—Hinata did not count—didn’t build pillow forts.

That was when the cushion had bounced lightly into the side of his head, knocking his glasses halfway down his nose. “Appreciate the glorious days of our youth, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi scolded.

Tsukishima had just _hmphed_ , ignoring the reprimand and Bokuto’s subsequent wheedling. Thankfully he’d finally gotten distracted when Hinata begged him to avenge his Tekken death. He hadn’t realised there was guacamole still on his cheek twenty minutes later, and had turned a light shade of pink when Tsukishima wiped it off with his fingers.

Now, sitting at the dining table staring at that couch, Tsukishima realised his thoughts were snagging on the mental image of that imploring, hopeful expression. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

And ten minutes later, found himself dumping armfuls of sheets and pillows from the bedroom into the middle of the living room, then pulling out his phone to search up _how to build a pillow fort_.

* * *

The conclusion had been reached: he was not good at this.

Tsukishima swore under his breath as he knocked his shin on a chair, causing it to slide across the floor and send one—the only one, actually—of the sheet walls caving in. He sat heavily on the offending furniture, rubbing his leg, not sure if it was his physical pain or emotional aggravation that was worse. 

God, this was pointless. It had been forty-six minutes and all he'd managed to do was construct some kind of avant-garde ceiling hanging by tying and clipping sheets up to the light fixture which hung in the centre of the living room. The tutorial he’d found on the internet had said the best place to make this sort of thing was an area in the house with enough furniture to hold blankets and sheets in place, but everything kept slipping everywhere no matter how many clothespins he used. An abandoned blanket lay crumpled on the floor with a dozen pegs sticking out of it like pastel plastic thorns. 

Tsukishima kneaded his forehead in exasperation—now, much to his chagrin, he could clearly recall those other times in their childhood Yamaguchi had been talking about, and they all involved his friend directing the course of action. Sure, Tsukishima had grumbled while lugging pillows about, but it hadn’t been _too_ much of a horrible time. He supposed. Maybe if Yamaguchi was here, there wouldn’t be a white bedsheet dangling sadly from the ceiling like a failed Halloween decoration.

But Yamaguchi wasn’t here. And he wouldn’t know about this. Tsukishima frowned deeply, plunking his foot back onto the floor and resisting the urge to yank the remaining sheet down. Yamaguchi would never learn that he was caving in, even if it was meant to be an apology to his boyfriend, and it was currently going shit, and he felt incredibly stupid.

Tsukishima stood up in a swift motion, grabbing two chairs and hauling them closer to the couch. That couch was then shoved around one-eighty degrees so its back was parallel to the chairs, and then all he had to do was pick up the ‘thorny’ blanket and throw it over the top so it spread out like a tent ceiling. When he let go, it held.

Ok, so that had worked. Done. Easy. A peg popped off the blanket and bounced off his toe.

He ignored it, taking a step back to check the results—and immediately rolled his eyes. It was functional, sure, with enough (just) qualities to fit under the label of “pillow fort”. But he wasn’t blind to its obvious flaws of not looking cosy in the slightest.

What a half-assed surprise for Bokuto to come back to. A mess of bedsheets and haphazard furniture in the living room—after Tsukishima had harped on about dirty dishes in the kitchen sink—and his boyfriend sitting in the middle of it all like some sort of hypocritical dimwit. Ugh. 

Tsukishima plucked the blanket off the chairs, tossing it over the couch arm. He glanced at his phone—cut off the train of thought. He wouldn’t give in. Nobody but himself had to know what a fool he was feeling like.

The sheet hanging from the ceiling drooped. Tsukishima squinted at it suspiciously, casting his gaze upward to settle on the knot and clothespin securing it to the light fixture. Even as he watched, the clothespin listed to the side, the knot loosening by increments. 

“ _No_ ,” he muttered emphatically, glaring at the knot. The peg continued to slip to the side, slowly, slowly—

Tsukishima raised a hand, catching the sheet as it fell down over his head and whipping it to the ground with a scowl. _Fine_ , universe, he’d call Yamaguchi.

Predictably, his friend picked up between the first and second ring. “ _Tsukki! How’s—_ ”

“Yamaguchi,” he interrupted tightly, then inwardly grimaced at how obviously his annoyance was carrying across.

“ _Whoa, what’s the matter?_ ”

“I have a question,” he said, feeling his face heat up. “Do you have some time?”

“ _Yup, just wait a second_.” There was a scuffling noise and the sound of a closing door. “ _Go on._ ”

Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the hesitation to go away. “How do you,” he began slowly, shoving the words out of his mouth one by one. “How do you build a pillow fort?”

“ _A pillow…sorry could you repeat that?_ ”

The blunt edges of his smartphone dug into his palm. “A pillow fort. The topic came up last week.”

“ _I remember that, but I—should I be getting my hearing checked, Tsukki?_ ”

 _Yamaguchi Tadashi, I am going to kill you,_ Tsukishima thought, slowly and very deliberately. 

And because Yamaguchi was Yamaguchi, he didn’t need to be looking at Tsukishima to recognise the weight of the particular silence that meant _death threat_. There was a short chuckle on the other end, before he thankfully decided to move on.

“So, pillow fort lessons.” Yamaguchi still sounded amused. “Let’s see. It’s best to do it in the living room, or somewhere—”

“With a lot of furniture and all that, yeah, I know.”

“ _That’s right, so you can put the sheets around more things, and I imagine it’d have to be kind of bigger than usual because you’re both pretty tall...actually, it might be kind of funny if your feet didn’t fit…_ ”

“Yamaguchi,” he said flatly.

“ _Sorry, Tsukki! Ok, um, what do you have on hand?_ ”

Tsukishima sighed and listed off what the clutter around his feet consisted of. Yamaguchi hummed and hawed, clearly turning over the image of the room in his head.

“ _Ok, if your light hanging’s sturdy, that’s a good place to start. You’ll have to use some string or clothesline though—_ ”

Tsukishima set him on loudspeaker, putting the phone down to follow along. The next twenty minutes saw him wrangling with different sheets, securing one back on the light fixture with cord this time, and clipping others to it so it stretched out like a veritable Frankenstein of tent fabric. On Yamaguchi’s urging, he dragged around the rest of the dining table chairs so there were two each on the left and right, and the couch made up the back wall. The sheets stretched covered them, their material thin enough to let a good amount of late morning sun through, diffusing into warm, clear light.

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, stepping back to survey the ‘fort’. Basically a skeleton of one, but at least the foundations were there, he thought, and stepped right onto a stray clothespin with his bare foot.

“ _How’s it looking?_ ”

“Just—fine,” Tsukishima said through clenched teeth, his eyes watering.

“ _So it’s all holding together? Great!_ ”

“Great,” he wheezed. “You could give an IKEA manual a run for its money.”

“ _Is that really a compliment?_ ” Yamaguchi asked doubtfully.

“Mmhm,” he forced out, furiously rubbing his foot, which throbbed with a dull, burning pain. “I think I got it now. Thanks for the help.”

“ _Anytime! And, Tsukki, I don’t want to pry, but… You didn’t sound so great when I picked up. Did something happen?_ ”

Tsukishima took a deep breath, fingers tightening briefly. He’d known the question was coming; Yamaguchi wasn’t one to leave things unsaid.

“I guess. Just… something with Kou.” It was difficult to verbalise it. His throat felt kind of scratchy. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

Tsukishima hesitated. He did appreciate Yamaguchi asking, but if he was being completely honest, “...Not really. But, uh, thanks.”

" _Are you sure?_ "

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Yamaguchi hummed in acknowledgement. “ _Okay, if that's more comfortable for you._ ”

“Sorry to keep you so long.”

“ _It’s really no trouble, Tsukki. For what it’s worth, though...I feel whatever problem you’re having will be resolved soon enough. I mean,_ you’re _building a_ pillow fort _for him. He’ll have no choice but to appreciate that!_ ”

“I never said I was doing anything like that!” Tsukishima said, strangled.

“ _Oh, you didn’t? My mistake_ ,” Yamaguchi sang, a sly grin clearly audible in his voice.

“Yes, your mistake,” Tsukishima grumbled, maybe too quiet for the phone’s microphone to pick up. Yamaguchi certainly didn’t give any sign he’d heard it.

“ _I’ll catch you later? If you ever need to chat though, you know I’ll always be here to listen_.”

“Mm. Okay. See you.” Sometimes Tsukishima didn’t know if he was unfortunate or incredibly lucky to have Yamaguchi as his best friend.

The phone soon beeped with the dial tone, leaving him once more in quiet. Tsukishima huffed, scooping up a fallen couch cushion and studying the not-quite-a-fort with narrowed eyes. With the sheet walls creating a little room within the living room, it looked miles better than his half-hearted blanket attempt from earlier. Speaking about ‘earlier’, he prayed Bokuto wouldn’t be on the way home anytime soon. Without Yamaguchi’s voice to guide him, Tsukishima was left feeling rather idiotic.

Once he’d laid out the thicker winter futon on the fort’s floor, he began tossing in every pillow he could find—which didn’t really amount to many. There were two couch cushions—once had been three, until Bokuto had tossed one to Hinata, whereupon it was promptly spiked into a pot of curry—and the three pillows from the bedroom. 

Tsukishima bent down, lifted up a dangling sheet covering the fort entrance, and squinted inside. He supposed it looked cosy? Maybe? Yamaguchi had asked about fairy lights, which Tsukishima had only snorted derisively at because by God he did not own _fairy lights_. (Now he had a feeling when Yamaguchi next came over he’d be gifting him fairy lights). Tsukishima rolled his eyes, bundling up a couple of blankets and tossing them inside the fort for good measure.

What now?

Almost immediately, the embarrassment came crashing down on him again. With this thing finally finished, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself until Bokuto came back. Waiting inside the fort would be awkward as hell, and lurking in the bedroom waiting would be weird. Right? And thanks to the couch and chairs currently being used to make the fort, he couldn’t exactly sit on the couch or at the table and attempt to get back to studying.

 _God_. The fort it was, then. He grabbed his study materials, so it would at least seem he was doing something other than waiting, and crawled inside. At least it was comfortable—the futon made a nice soft cover on the floor, and Tsukishima could lean against the back of the couch so he didn’t have to hunch over. But to his chagrin, he found he had to duck his head a bit to avoid touching the roof of the fort.

Apprehension was making his stomach swirl with nausea; he flipped open one of the books, trying to quash the feeling. He read a few lines, ducked his head to avoid touching the overhanging sheet, and scribbled a few notes in his notebook—the sheet brushed against the top of his head again and he hunched down further. It was only when his neck twinged with pain that Tsukishima realised he was bent much further than he needed to be. He glanced up. The ceiling sagged toward him.

“No you don’t,” he said acidly, glaring upward as if his ire had physical force. Gravity defied him, tugging the loosening sheet slowly downward.

Tsukishima groaned in exasperation, shutting his book with a snap and beginning to crawl to the outside. Was he really that crappy at tying knots? Surely Bokuto would have mentioned that at one point?

He was halfway straightened up when he heard a slithering sort of sound, followed by a rushing—and before he knew it, the soft, thin fabric was cascading down around his head. “ _Fuck_ ,” he snapped, trying to shove it off, and only succeeding in wrapping himself further in it. As soon as he got out— _whenever_ he got out—he was going to burn this Goddamn bedsheet, fort be damned. 

But he couldn’t actually get out, even when he straightened up on his knees. Flailing his arms out only brought more sheet in to swamp him, rustling all about his ears until he wanted to scream just to hear a different sound. 

Maybe standing up would help—so he tried it, almost stumbling back to his knees when the sheet caught on something. Probably the chair. Tsukishima yanked at it angrily, immediately regretting it when he heard chair legs scrape and then felt the heaviness of more falling blankets. Great, just great. At least he was standing—he paused to catch his breath, tried to regain his bearings. Tried to ignore the colossal failure creeping over him. At this rate, he was utterly sick of pillow forts. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, massaging his temples. And then suddenly he felt a hand settle on his head.

“Fuck!” Tsukishima yelled, lurching away blindly, tripping over the folds of the fabric. It tangled around his legs and he crashed onto the futon.

“Tsukki! Tsukki, it’s just me!”

He froze from where he'd been scrambling to his knees. Bokuto's voice. He hadn't even heard him come in. Tsukishima wanted to die.

The sheet was being tugged at, then the edge was lifted up, dragging over his hair. He squinted a bit in the sudden light before focusing on the man crouched in front of him, who was looking at him with wide, puzzled eyes. Tsukishima felt his heart lodge in his throat.

"What are you doing?" Bokuto asked.

As soon as the question left Bokuto’s lips, Tsukishima felt himself turn a horribly vivid red. “It _was_ meant to be a surprise,” he blurted, and cringed.

Bokuto tilted his head slightly, his hands still on the sheet folds he’d pushed around Tsukishima’s shoulders. But that curious, cautious expression had softened. “For...me?”

“Yeah.” He looked fixedly somewhere downward and to the left of Bokuto, cheeks burning. His knees were beginning to hurt. “Because...fuck. Last night. I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t deserve that.”

Bokuto's fingers tightened infinitesimally on his shoulders. "Tsukki…"

He exhaled swiftly, forcing himself to meet Bokuto's gaze. "You need to know I didn't mean any of it. I'm sorry, Kou."

Bokuto blinked, his eyes suddenly shiny and wet-looking. Tsukishima tensed with worry; he wasn't sure if that was a good sign...but it was a sight far better than the hurt he'd inflicted there yesterday. And there was a small, wobbly smile emerging on Bokuto's lips, making Tsukishima’s breath stick in his throat.

"Tsukki," Bokuto said again, only now his name sounded different when shaped by that smile. Before Tsukishima could say anything else, Bokuto had dropped to his knees as well and was wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug, sheets and all. "Tsukki, I'm sorry too."

"What?" Shock made him speak sharper than he intended; Tsukishima winced, softening his tone. "What are you apologising for?"

"I shouldn't have pushed you!" Bokuto insisted, pulling back to look at him earnestly. "You were obviously stressed, and I was leaving messes, making it wor—"

" _I'm_ the one who's sorry!" Tsukishima interrupted.

Bokuto's eyebrows drew down into a frown. "I'm more sorry, though."

"You—!" Tsukishima gaped at him helplessly. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about!"

"I'll forgive you if you forgive me," Bokuto said stubbornly.

He was ridiculous. Unbelievable. Absolutely impossible.

Tsukishima loved him so, _so_ much.

He pulled Bokuto close again without thinking, hugging him even tighter than he'd hugged Tsukishima before. His skin was warm against Tsukishima's cheek. "Of course I do," Tsukishima mumbled into his neck. 

"And obviously I forgive you; why wouldn’t I?” Bokuto’s breath fanned warm against his hair. “Also, you look really cute right now. That’s like a bajillion points in your favour.”

Tsukishima stiffened, flushing even hotter. “Quit talking and help me stand up.”

Bokuto laughed as he moved away, but when their gazes caught, the fondness in his slightly red-rimmed eyes had Tsukishima tugging him back, cupping his face and giving him a soft, almost tentative kiss. Bokuto made a small “ _mm_!” of surprise and melted straight into it, kissing Tsukishima back with such tenderness it sent little sparks all the way down to his toes. Bokuto’s eyes stayed closed as they parted, his smile turned dreamy.

“Kou,” Tsukishima said, his lips tingling very pleasantly.

“Oh, right!” Bokuto’s eyelids popped open.

Although looking somewhat dazed, he got to his feet, helping Tsukishima upright as well. The bunched-up sheets slid off Tsukishima's shoulders, pooling around his ankles. He shook at them crossly, only managing to catch his foot in more of it.

“I swear to God.”

“Here, hold on a sec.” Bokuto bent down to fuss with the blankets, eventually chucking them aside with a flourish and leaving Tsukishima’s feet free.

“How did you even do that?” Tsukishima asked, frowning. Given that he’d struggled more than he thought was necessary, he felt just the slightest bit aggrieved.

Bokuto beamed. “Magic touch,” he said, wriggling his fingers, and leaned up to kiss him, long and slow. Each press of his lips drew a strand of sanity out of Tsukishima’s skull—it was his turn to be dazed, his toes curling into the squishy futon.

Only when they parted for air he became aware he was basically clinging onto Bokuto’s arms, fingers pressed into his biceps. The material of Bokuto’s MSBY jacket was cool and silken, bunching in his hands. Tsukishima bit his lip, picturing the swell of muscle hidden underneath. Imagining the give of smooth, pale skin under his thumb.

“Your surprise worked, you know,” Bokuto said suddenly. When Tsukishima finally looked at him, he had a happy little grin on his face. “I was really surprised.”

A warmth stole through Tsukishima’s chest at the sight, but his blush deepened at the reminder of the pillow fort, which he knew lay in ruins. “I messed it up,” he muttered. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey,” Bokuto booped him on the nose; Tsukishima wrinkled it, “that means we can fix it together! It’s always more fun making them with someone else!”

Tsukishima huffed, slowly untangling himself from Bokuro’s arms. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. I made them with my sisters, like, all the time!”

Tsukishima thought back to meeting Bokuto’s older sisters, one elegant, the other boisterous, both overwhelmingly doting, and found he could easily picture them indulging Bokuto in his shenanigans. Maybe they hadn’t even been all _Bokuto’s_ shenanigans.

“You’ll see,” Bokuto continued confidently. He started to march over the sheets and tripped over something with an “ _oof_ ”. “What’s this doing here?”

He’d fished out Tsukishima’s forgotten textbook and notepad. "I was studying," Tsukishima said, even though he couldn't remember what pages he'd even looked at that morning.

"In the fort?" Bokuto paused for a moment, his eyes glazing over a little. Tsukishima scowled, knowing exactly what his boyfriend was imagining. "Tsukki...that's super—"

"Don't say cute."

"—adorable," Bokuto finished triumphantly, and set the book aside on one of the chairs. “Hold this?”

He thrust the edge of a sheet into Tsukishima’s hands, taking the other end. When he flapped it out, it revealed the wrinkled centre where the cord had been tied around it to secure it to the light fixture. Tsukishima looked up at said light—the cord was dangling there, its end at a sad, crooked angle. Bokuto twisted the centre together and reached to grab it.

Tsukishima’s thoughts stuttered, the edge of the sheet slipping out of his hands. When Bokuto stretched up his jacket and shirt rode up too, not high enough to rise above his waist, but enough to expose the full curve of his ass, which his shorts _clung_ to as he rose on his toes. Tsukishima’s mouth went dry. 

“C’mere and give me a hand,” Bokuto called without looking around.

 _A hand_ , Tsukishima thought somewhat wildly, staring fixedly in the same direction and almost tripping over his own feet when he approached. Bokuto sank back to his feet, his jacket covering him from view, and—Tsukishima was now not a fan of that jacket.

“Over there.” Bokuto handed him the sheet and gestured upward.

He easily lifted it higher, half-smirking at how Bokuto grumbled at having to stretch, but still too distracted to deliver any kind of snark. At least from this angle he could see Bokuto’s face clearly. His tongue poked out between his teeth as he concentrated on tightening the knot, brushing against the inside of his bottom lip. 

“Done!” he finally said, flopping his arms down. “Now we—um?”

Bokuto had turned to look up at him, but Tsukishima was close enough that he was forced to tilt up his chin to do so, his usual boisterousness faltering. His yellow-gold eyes went wide, pupils growing darker and larger. Tsukishima _knew_ this look.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

“We should finish the fort,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bokuto agreed, blinking rapidly.

Neither of them moved.

"I'm going to kiss you," Bokuto announced, already rising up to meet his mouth.

He tasted faintly salty, Tsukishima found when he parted his own lips, seeking the touch of that red tongue that had been caught between flashing white teeth. And he was so warm—not only his mouth but his hands, too, where they’d slid up to rest at the junction of Tsukishima’s neck and shoulder. Bokuto made a muffled sort of groan when Tsukishima licked against his bottom lip, welcoming him in enthusiastically. 

As always, whenever they were kissing, Tsukishima struggled to keep his thoughts together. It was all too easy to lose himself and let Bokuto drag him under—and he fucking liked that, alright, he _liked_ it. Their tongues glided against each other, eliciting a muffled moan that he was just able to restrain. Bokuto grinned into the kiss; God, he definitely knew what Tsukishima had held back. Infuriating.

Bokuto inadvertently prevented him from shoving that damned MSBY jacket off by pulling away, their mouths separating with a soft popping sound that made heat crawl over the back of his neck. “Mmm,” Bokuto hummed.

"Weren’t you going to prove _making_ pillow forts is fun?” Tsukishima asked, the sarcasm in his voice lost to its roughness.

Bokuto smacked his lips exaggeratedly. “Aren’t you having fun?”

Ok, just for that, he wasn’t getting another kiss. Tsukishima stepped aside pointedly, ignoring Bokuto’s woeful look, and picked up another sheet which would be attached to the hanging one with pegs. He proffered it with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

“Ugh, you’re so unfair,” Bokuto whined, but took it anyway.

They slowly began putting the fort together again. Tsukishima _almost_ regretted moving away from the kiss, but it was worth it to see Bokuto squirm, sending pouts in Tsukishima’s direction when he thought he wasn’t looking. Actually, he continued doing it even when Tsukishima caught his eye, sticking his lower lip out so much that as soon as Tsukishima was done tucking a sheet over the couch, he broke and tossed a pillow at Bokuto’s face.

Bokuto’s arm flashed through the air, spiking the pillow down. It landed with a _whump_ at his feet. “Can’t beat these reflexes,” he crowed.

"I could, actually," Tsukishima drawled. His own volleyball team had been rising quite swiftly in the ranks of Division 2, after all.

Bokuto flicked up the pillow with his foot, caught it, and chucked it into the almost-completed fort. Then he advanced on Tsukishima, tapping him on the chest with a giant grin. "Prove it."

Tsukishima's hand snapped around his wrist. Bokuto’s grin grew wider, as if he’d known that was exactly what he would do. As Tsukishima leaned down, his eyelids began to flutter closed with an air of expectancy he wasn’t even bothering to hide.

Their lips were just shy of brushing together when Tsukishima murmured, “You haven’t finished your side yet,” and drew back.

“Oh my g— _Tsukki_.” 

Tsukishima snickered as he turned away, using the movement to hide his face from Bokuto because he knew his cheeks had gone red. It had been unexpectedly difficult to turn down that open invitation, all presented to him with wholehearted affection and eagerness. 

Bokuto shuffled around behind him, his mumbling punctuated by the scrape of a chair as he pulled it into place. Rebuilding the fort had actually taken about half as long as before; Bokuto had proved his claimed skill true and had whipped together the majority of the thing with surprising finesse. He’d also made it somehow larger _and_ cosier than before. 

“Done!”

There was a rustle of cloth; Tsukishima turned to see Bokuto holding the sheet partially covering the entrance aside, waving him forward with a grandiose gesture. He let himself be ushered inside, settling down at the back of their tent. The blankets had been spread out over the futon, adding a thick layer of fluffiness that was extremely comfortable to sit on.

Noon sunlight lit up the inside of the fort with a pale warm glow. Bokuto crawled in behind him on his hands and knees, his eyes sparkling in the diffused light. Instead of going for another kiss, however, he threw himself down beside Tsukishima, plopping his head onto his lap.

"Hi," he said.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. "Hello, Bokuto-san."

"Cold! What happened to 'Kou'?"

The tips of his hair were drooping, the product in it either worn thin or washed off. Tsukishima brushed his fingers through it thoughtfully. It was softer than usual, meaning Bokuto had gotten all the hair gel out when showering after practice. Tsukishima was grateful he’d changed from his jersey into a clean shirt because smelling like old sweat was, frankly, a turn-off.

Bokuto’s eyebrows twitched as he tried and failed to stop his mock-offended expression from melting into sappy relaxation. In about two seconds he gave up, deflating with a heavy exhale.

“So, whaddya think?” he asked, flapping a hand at their surroundings. 

“It’s nice. Kou.”

Bokuto hummed in satisfaction. With his solid, heavy body gone all loose-limbed against Tsukishima, his fatigue was now showing. With a sudden twist in his stomach, Tsukishima wondered how much sleep he’d had actually gotten last night.

“How was practice?” he asked quietly.

Bokuto shifted, staring at the soft curve of the fort ceiling. “It was pretty good. Hinata popped some spikes past Omi-omi, wow, you shoulda seen his face! Then Omi-omi received some of ‘Tsumu’s serves, you shoulda seen _his_ face.” He poked his tongue out. “I was getting blocked.”

Tsukishima’s fingers slowed their movements in Bokuto’s hair. 

Bokuto’s eyes slid to him, knowing. “Off day. All normal aces have off days,” he said firmly. He reached up to jab lightly at the small furrow that had formed in Tsukishima’s brow. “I’m fine now.”

Tsukishima averted his gaze, his jaw working. Bokuto shouldn't be the one comforting _him_. He wanted...he needed...

“Nah, don’t feel like napping,” Bokuto abruptly said, like he’d decided something. Tsukishima felt a hand tug his collar, bringing him downward. “Kiss me again, Tsukki.”

Yeah, this was in line with what he wanted.

Their lips met softly, warmly. The angle they were at was slightly awkward, but Bokuto acted like that obstacle didn't even exist. His fingers crept from Tsukishima's collar to his neck, curling around the back of his neck in an almost proprietary gesture, causing something to clench within Tsukishima’s chest.

Between that moment and the next the kiss deepened, tongues delving into each others’ mouths. Bokuto’s exhales came out in little gasps between each parting of their lips; it wasn't loud, but it was a precursor. Tsukishima caught Bokuto's bottom lip between his teeth, dragging at it lightly.

Bokuto let out a hitched whine, a shudder rippling through his body as Tsukishima released him. “Fuck,” he panted, blinking up dazedly as though he’d been punched in the face. “Holy shit.”

“Aren’t you eloquent.” Tsukishima was proud he managed to sound composed despite his heaving chest.

“Holy shit,” Bokuto said again, pushing himself upright and climbing right onto Tsukishima’s lap, caging him in with his legs on either side.

Tsukishima’s throat closed up, his hands flying to Bokuto’s thighs before he could think. They felt so _good_ to touch, shorts stretched so tautly over the muscle it was almost like they weren’t even there. He felt himself hardening, a reaction to the immediacy of Bokuto hovering over him with hungry eyes and skin hot as a searing brand.

The thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, then emptied right out when Bokuto went straight back to kissing him, tilting his head back with capable, experienced hands. “I— missed you— today,” Bokuto got out between kisses, trailing his mouth away from Tsukishima’s lips and down his jaw. “Getting home and seeing you— was just—”

“Don’t say it,” Tsukishima muttered, automatically baring more of his neck for Bokuto to suck wet, red circles into his skin. He didn’t want to think about how foolish he’d looked buried under those fallen sheets.

“Had— no idea what you were doing—” Bokuto broke off in a choked gasp when their crotches brushed, “but it made me really _happy_ —”

Tsukishima tightened his hands around Bokuto’s thighs, hiking him forward so that their erections rubbed closer together—Bokuto moaned so loudly into his neck Tsukishima almost didn’t hear his own shameful little whimper. _Happy_ , rang through his head _, made me really happy_.

Heat raced below his skin, suffusing him from head to toe as their mouths found each other again. The kisses turned messier, clumsier on Bokuto’s half but no less intense; when Tsukishima slipped his fingers underneath the hem of Bokuto’s clothes he arched his back with a breathless “ _ah_ ”, sending a heady pulse of arousal down between Tsukishima’s legs. 

Suddenly it wasn’t enough just to be holding Bokuto through the rough fabric of his clothes—and Bokuto seemed to have had the same idea at the same time, because he was yanking his jacket off and tossing it somewhere to the side, allowing Tsukishima to lift Bokuto’s shirt over his head and immediately return to roaming his hands over the planes of muscle in Bokuto’s back. His boyfriend jolted each time Tsukishima pricked his fingernails into his skin, which was both very hot and very gratifying.

“ _Mmpfh_ —” Bokuto said into his mouth, then pulled away to gasp, “You too.”

“Me what?” Tsukishima scrubbed the saliva off his lips, grimacing as an afterthought. 

“Shirt.” Bokuto tugged at it.

"Oh."

His glasses caught on his shirt when Bokuto tried taking it off. Tsukishima winced, removing them and finishing the job himself, while Bokuto erupted into a stream of "sorry, shit, sorry!"

"It's fine," Tsukishima said flatly, looking up through his lashes, taking in the expanse of Bokuto’s broad chest, the strong curve of his arms. He saw Bokuto's throat bob as he gulped.

 _Yeah. Like this_.

With Bokuto exposed in front of him, Tsukishima could spread his hands over his firm abs, brushing over the light dusting of hair low on his stomach, and around to his back. When Bokuto rocked against him again he gasped despite himself, accidentally scratching lines from below Bokuto’s shoulder blades right to the dip above his ass. Rather than recoiling in pain Bokuto just whimpered, grinding them together even harder.

"More," he garbled against Tsukishima's mouth, teeth catching on his lip, making it throb. “C’mon, more, _please_.”

“Kou,” he choked, unable to sort through all the emotions swirling through his chest. Bokuto shivered violently.

Tsukishima was losing himself in the electric friction between them, his heartbeat thundering in his ears louder than his breaths. Not as loud as Bokuto though, because he was _loud_ , moaning without reservation when Tsukishima leaned up to bite just below his collarbone, sucking in the flesh and rolling it between his teeth. How he could make such sounds without any ounce of embarrassment, Tsukishima still couldn’t understand—it both embarrassed _him_ while also turning him on beyond belief. His hand splayed over Bokuto’s chest, pinching lightly on his left nipple, then he moved to lave over it with his tongue.

“ _Tsukki—_!” Bokuto burst out. “ _Fuck_ , I— oh my God, _oh my God_.”

The press of Bokuto’s powerful muscles was making Tsukishima dizzy. He could barely think as Bokuto rutted against him again; he groped his other hand down to palm Bokuto through his shorts.

“You’re killing me, fucking killing me, T-Tsukki—” His voice cracked when Tsukishima circled a hand over his clothed length, rubbing along the tip. There was a damp spot there, Tsukishima could feel it.

“Take off your shorts,” he said hoarsely, sounding borderline unrecognisable to his own ears.

“ _Nn_ — okay,” Bokuto panted, his legs shaking as he rose up onto his knees, pushing down his shorts and briefs together.

It was rather fortunate Tsukishima was leaning back, because Bokuto hadn’t thought to put a hand on himself and had sprung up thick and heavy, beaded with precome. “Oh,” Tsukishima said, now eye-level with Bokuto’s cock.

Bokuto lurched backward a little, his apologies falling on deaf ears. Tsukishima was busy staring at the curve of his length, flushed a dark red which contrasted against the paleness of his stomach. 

“—really didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Tsukishima hissed, short and sharp.

Bokuto cut himself off, but trembled all over again when Tsukishima reached up slowly, taking a hold of his hips, pressing his thumbs into the divots there. He wet his lips, darting his eyes upward. Bokuto was looking right back at him, his gaze huge and dark, all naked longing and adoration.

Yeah, this was what Tsukishima wanted _and_ needed—to make Bokuto feel, no, to _know_ that he cared. 

“Be good for me, Kou,” he whispered, and leaned forward to slide his lips over the head of Bokuto’s cock.

Saltiness flooded his taste buds, but Tsukishima ignored it in favour of swirling his tongue around Bokuto, relishing the hot weight in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to wrap closer around his girth. Predictably, Bokuto jerked forward, almost hitting the back of his throat— _I_ told _him to be good_ —but Tsukishima was prepared for that, restraining the worst of it with his grip on Bokuto’s hips. Maybe it was bruising. He hoped it was bruising.

He pulled back, breathing raggedly. “I like— the way you feel,” he said, faltering slightly. He wasn’t much for talking, that was Bokuto’s forte, but the tremor that rippled through Bokuto’s body told Tsukishima he was doing an okay job of it. “The way you taste,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the side of Bokuto’s cock.

“Kei, _ah_ , _Kei_ , you’re _unbelievable_ ,” Bokuto groaned.

His hands had found Tsukishima’s hair, tangling into it like a lifeline. With every drag of Tsukishima’s tongue, every wet suck, his fingers tugged the strands, sending jolts of burning pleasure through Tsukishima’s nerves all the way to his dick. He really should have taken off his own underwear as well, he was so painfully hard.

At this angle, he couldn’t swallow too much of Bokuto down, but he could lick his tongue along the underside, wrenching another rumbling sigh straight from the depths of Bokuto’s chest. Tsukishima’s fingers crept further around his back, as if that could pull him closer, slipping down and curling into the softness of his ass.

“Kei, _please_ ,” Bokuto keened, his hips jutting forward again—it was good Tsukishima was only mouthing along his length at that point, otherwise he might’ve choked. “Fuck, I want— I want—” he pushed his hips back harder against Tsukishima’s fingers, a filthy moan escaping his throat. “I want you inside me.”

Tsukishima froze, inhaling sharply. “You want...me to...?”

Bokuto nodded rapidly. “Uh huh.”

Shit. Tsukishima swallowed, his cheeks on fire. He began to lower his hands, but Bokuto made a sound of needy protest, swaying slightly and bumping against Tsukishima's chin.

“No, wait, we need lube,” Tsukishima got out.

“Do we really,” Bokuto whined.

“ _Yes_ , you idiot."

Bokuto scrunched up his nose, both hands still in Tsukishima’s hair. “Fiiiine. Wait here.”

He stood up unsteadily, toeing off his underwear all the way and discarding it on the floor to hurry out to the bedroom. Tsukishima watched his sculpted ass and back as he left, mouth twisted wryly. He’d been prepared to get the stuff himself—after all, he was the mostly clothed one here—but leave it to Bokuto to rush out without a second thought. 

Pushing himself a little more upright and pausing to regain control of his breathing, Tsukishima caught sight of Bokuto’s jacket lying off to the side, the rich gold standing out against the dark blanket. It was a good—more than good—colour on Bokuto, one that brought out the tone of his irises and matched the vibrancy of his grin. He picked up the jacket, twisting his fingers into it with a touch of nervousness.

What Bokuto had asked for...it wasn’t too often that happened—not out of lack of wanting, but more because they usually ended up with Bokuto pinning him to the bed and sliding inside him with rolling, desperate thrusts. But when Bokuto was the one taking him in…his face would be flush with arousal in an entirely different way, more breathless, blissed out, outright lighting up if Tsukishima let praise slip past his lips.

Tsukishima clenched the jacket tighter, his dick twitching in response to the memory. Holding the clothing didn’t help much, since it smelled of him; Tsukishima held it up to his face, inhaling, eyes falling half-closed. Wondering.

He pulled it on; soft warmth and Bokuto’s scent swathed his bare skin.

Light branched into the fort as the man in question lifted up the sheet-curtain. “Fuck, sorry, I couldn’t find—”

The bottle of lube fell to the futon with a muffled thump. He gaped at Tsukishima, who frowned, interlocking his fingers out of habit. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before,” he said defensively.

“I— I know that but— oh my God,” Bokuto said in a rush, shouldering his way fully inside and grabbing up the fallen bottle. The ceiling wobbled alarmingly.

Tsukishima’s reprimand died in his throat. Even though Bokuto was crouched down to avoid disturbing the fort further, he was completely on show, every inch of him sculpted, curved muscle, from wide shoulders to bulky thighs that Tsukishima suddenly regretted not biting into before. But it was what was hanging between them that really had his attention; he wasn’t aware he’d sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, riveted, until Bokuto was brushing his thumb against his mouth.

Meeting Bokuto’s eyes threw him off-guard all over again. The mixture of adoration and neediness etched onto Bokuto’s face had the effect of making Tsukishima feel like _he_ was the one being stripped bare, emotions on display for the world to see.

“I want you to wear this _all the time_ ,” Bokuto said, plucking at the MSBY jacket’s collar. “Wait, should I have worn yours, too? Crap, I didn’t think about that—”

“Please stop talking,” Tsukishima said numbly. He hadn’t thought about it either. Next time, he promised himself, pulling Bokuto into a kiss that edged on rough.

Bokuto mumbled something inaudible into the kiss and crawled between Tsukishima’s legs, slotting in one of those powerful thighs so it dragged against his cock. A finger hooked down the waistband of his underwear, exposing him to sweat-slick skin and the rough texture of Bokuto's hair. Tsukishima’s lungs emptied in a rush; he squeezed his eyes shut, on the very brink of collapsing onto his back and giving in to whatever Bokuto would do to him.

With difficulty, Tsukishima stopped him with a palm on his chest. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

Bokuto still seemed a little unfocused, but he nodded emphatically. “Yeah! Yeah, I do.”

Tsukishima sat up, forcing Bokuto to back away some. “With your jacket on?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Then give me the lube,” he said authoritatively, even though his heart was hammering double time. Smooth plastic was quickly pressed into his hand, along with the crinkle of a condom packet. His fingers closed around them automatically.

Bokuto hovered over him, cock dripping precome onto Tsukishima's thigh. Tsukishima cupped his jaw and kissed him, hard, not letting either of them escape for breath until he broke the connection. Saliva strung between their lips, snapped to trail down his chin.

Bokuto was fidgeting with an air of desperation that had Tsukishima forgetting to be shy. "On your back," he whispered.

"You got it, Tsukki," Bokuto said with a crooked, radiant grin.

He retreated, moving to slouch almost lazily against the pillows, propping himself up to watch with open appreciation as Tsukishima began sliding down his pants and underwear. Tsukishima shot him a look, eyes narrowing when he saw Bokuto had wrapped a hand around himself, pumping with long, slow strokes.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" he asked coolly.

A deep flush spread high over Bokuto’s cheekbones. His hand dropped to his side, fingers trembling.

"That's better," Tsukishima said, making sure to inject approval into his voice.

It was delicious how torn between pride and frustration Bokuto looked, his knuckles turned white from his hands digging into the blankets. He watched Tsukishima avidly as he undressed, making a little noise when Tsukishima properly pushed down his briefs, hooking them over his ankles. Bokuto shifted restlessly, still not touching himself, although he was clearly desperate to. “Hurry up, _please_.”

Tsukishima suppressed a shudder at the raw need in Bokuto’s voice, going over to him as if he was in no hurry. His erection betrayed him in that regard—he felt it bob against him, hot and wet, made all the more sensitive by being exposed so completely to the air.

Bokuto, damn him, _licked his lips_ as Tsukishima settled before him, reaching out. Tsukishima lightly slapped his hand away.

“No touching,” he said, even though all his instincts protested the command. _He_ was going to be the one doing the touching, this time. 

"Ugh— but—"

"You'll be good, won't you?" He opened the bottle of lube, pushing up the sleeve of the MSBY jacket so he could coat his fingers.

A quiver swept through Bokuto's body, his muscles shivering taut. "Yeah. Yeah, I will."

Tsukishima leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I know you will," he murmured, and slid his hand between them, finding Bokuto with ease.

Bokuto choked out a gasp, back curving down like a bow. Tsukishima gave him a few sure, steady strokes, thumbing at the ridge of his slit before sliding his lube-slicked hand all the way down—a string of beautiful nonsense spilled from Bokuto’s lips when Tsukishima trailed his index finger around his rim, and then dipped it inside.

“Meant what I said before, you gotta _always_ wear my jacket, you look _incredible_ in it, swear to God—” Bokuto’s arms bulged with his effort to hold back, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he grunted, jerking his hips forward to take in more. Then he abruptly stilled, brow furrowed with uncertainty. “Uh...does that count as touching?”

“...No,” Tsukishima decided. “No, it doesn’t." 

“Oh.” His breath hitched, hips canting downward again. “N-nice.”

The way Bokuto was regarding him, so full of trust and love, made Tsukishima feel, in these precious, hidden moments, nothing he did would be a misstep. Not like before. He curled his finger in deeper, circling it wider bit by bit. He would make up properly for before, make Bokuto feel— _know_ he was wanted and cared about. 

He added another finger, and at the same time leaned forward to kiss Bokuto deeply, swallowing down his moans. Tsukishima felt himself throb between his legs, causing him to gasp a little and disrupted the movement of their lips. 

Bokuto writhed underneath him. "God— you feel so good— let me touch you?"

"No," Tsukishima said, kissing the tears under his eye away. "You're doing so well already, Kou."

He felt Bokuto clench around his fingers in response, his cock wet and straining where it pressed against Tsukishima's thigh. “Kei, you gotta— more, need more— _uhn_ —”

Tsukishima stopped himself just shy of crooking his fingers _there_ , pulling his hand free to leave Bokuto stretched out, empty and open. The condom packet crinkled loudly when he tore it open; the lube was cold on his skin. His eyes travelled up and down Bokuto’s body as he rolled the condom on, taking in his broad, muscled chest, the thick dripping length of his cock, the eager tilt of his hips. Sometimes he couldn’t believe that someone as beautiful as this had chosen _him_.

Bokuto tilted his head back across the pillow, the tendons in his neck straining as Tsukishima positioned himself between his thighs. “Fuck me, Tsukki, please...”

“What do you call me?” Tsukishima asked, flushing at the strained timbre of his voice.

“ _Kei_. Kei _, fuck me_ ,” he _demanded_ , head snapping up to stare at Tsukishima desperately, his pupils blown wide and dark.

“Good boy,” Tsukishima said, and pushed inside.

Bokuto’s cry choked off into a harsh burst of breath. His eyebrows drew together; Tsukishima stopped moving, partly to let Bokuto adjust, partly so he himself didn’t come right then and there. His thoughts had been thrown into total disarray by the tight, slick heat surrounding him, about to push him over the edge.

Undaunted, Bokuto kept his hips angled upward, his forehead sheened with sweat. Tsukishima took another second to get himself back under control, then began to move. The hem of the golden MSBY jacket he wore skimmed Bokuto’s stomach as they rocked together—it was uncomfortably hot around his shoulders, but it made Bokuto look at him so _hungrily_ , thrumming electricity right into his veins.

And Bokuto was gorgeous underneath him, muscles bunching under sweat-glistening skin, focused on Tsukishima like he was the only thing that existed in the world. Tsukishima couldn’t look away, even as he rolled his hips faster and more forcefully, finding _that_ point and wrenching loud, guttural curses out from his boyfriend’s mouth.

Tsukishima kissed one of those curses away, fire dancing across his tongue as Bokuto’s teeth grazed it. “You can touch yourself,” he allowed.

“ _Fuck_.” Bokuto’s hand flew to his cock, resulting in him shuddering from head to toe.

Stars danced across Tsukishima’s vision. “You feel— _amazing_ ,” he heard himself say, and was rewarded with Bokuto’s loud whimper. “You’re always amazing.” 

“Oh God, I can’t,” he gasped weakly. His free hand fumbled about wildly—forbidden to touch Tsukishima, he was grasping pretty much everything else, from blankets to pillows to...the _sheet_ — “Kei, Kei, I can’t.”

“Then come for me,” Tsukishima whispered.

Bokuto’s back was arching before Tsukishima finished speaking; he felt hot wet ribbons on his stomach, Bokuto clenching around him with a shout. It was all enough to drag him right into that blissful white, where there was nothing but his panting breaths and shaking muscles and then Bokuto’s arm locked around his back, holding him tight and close—

There was a series of snapping sounds above them from pegs popping open and before Tsukishima realised what was happening, half the sheet-ceiling had caved in on their heads.

“Oh my God,” Tsukishima groaned softly, shutting his eyes against the world. His body was quivering as he came down from his high. It was impossible to process this right now.

“Oops,” Bokuto offered.

Tsukishima breathed in, breathed out. Very slow. Very measured.

Bokuto still had him in an embrace, shivering slightly. A large part of Tsukishima wanted to slump bonelessly against his large chest and drift—that was what he usually did, anyway—but the bedsheet was draped over their heads in a somewhat distracting way. With effort, he pushed himself up, sliding out.

Bokuto let his arm fall to the side with a soft thump. “Ah, sorry, Tsukki,” he mumbled. “You said no touching.”

Tsukishima sat on his side, tenting the sheet with his head and shoulders, looking down at Bokuto. His boyfriend’s eyes were half-lidded with satisfied sleepiness, a smile playing about his lips. He wasn’t _really_ sorry, then.

But it was fine, Tsukishima supposed. He touched a hand to Bokuto’s cheek, trailing his thumb over the soft skin there. Bokuto leaned into his palm, smile widening.

“You’re going to be just fine tomorrow, you know,” he told Tsukishima. “More than fine. You know all your stuff just like always, don't you?” He tapped him lightly on the forehead. “Yup, my Tsukki’s definitely going to show those exams who’s boss.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, making a disgruntled _tsk_ in response. Something had unfurled in his chest, though, a deep, true warmth that nestled there and spread outward to his fingers and toes.

There were still half-dried tears tracking across Bokuto's cheekbones. Tsukishima licked the pad of his thumb and rubbed them away gently, more of that warmth shooting across his face when Bokuto pressed a kiss to the edge of his palm.

“You’re really quite a sweetheart, aren’t you?” Bokuto said, his eyes dancing.

He frowned. “Not in the slightest.” And then, “I love you.”

“The sweetest,” Bokuto concluded, gathering Tsukishima up in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> The gorgeous [promo art](https://twitter.com/tsukichuus/status/1337408900795002880?s=20) for this fic was done by [shrinpus/frog!](https://twitter.com/shrinpus) Please go check them out they're a wonderful artist and amazing human being ♡
> 
> Thank you to frog, [momo](https://twitter.com/martialarcs), and [yoli](https://twitter.com/yolart_) for beta-ing!
> 
> [my twitter ☾](https://twitter.com/tsukichuus)


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